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      ‘Anyway, why do you keep going on about coffee?’ asked Mum.

      Mr Shilling smiled with the air of someone about to make an important announcement.

      ‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’ve just bought a little cafe on the seafront.’

      ‘WHAT?’ Mum almost fell off her seat. ‘You’re not serious?’

      ‘It’s perfect,’ said Dad. ‘It’s an old beach hut in a great spot down on the front. I thought it could be a summer season thing while I work on my inventions in the winter.’

      Sam could hardly believe his ears.

      ‘We’re going to run a cafe?’ he asked.

      ‘It’s news to me,’ said Mum.

      ‘I’ll take you to see it,’ promised Dad. ‘Honestly, I think this could be the best idea I’ve ever had.’

      Sam smiled. His dad had said exactly the same thing about the Grandem – a four-saddle bike for all the family, which had failed to sell a single model. A cafe was different though, thought Sam, you wouldn’t fall off it while going round corners. Cafes served pizza, ice cream and chocolate brownies – which luckily were all things that he loved!

      ‘Are you telling me you’ve spent all of our savings on some old beach hut?’ demanded Mum.

      ‘Of course not all,’ said Dad. ‘I had to keep some back because the place needs a bit of work.’

      ‘And who’s going to run this cafe and cook all the meals?’ demanded Mum.

      ‘Well me, obviously,’ replied Dad.

      ‘Crumble!’ muttered Oscar to himself.

      Dad looked round at Sam. ‘What did you say?’

      ‘Er . . . good idea,’ answered Sam, shooting Oscar a warning look. He was right about one thing though: no one could claim that Dad was famous for his cooking. His speciality was beans on toast – and even then the toast was usually burnt.

CHAPTER 2

       DREAM CAFE

      Sam stood outside the house waiting for Dad with Oscar. Dad was eager to take them to see the new cafe for themselves. Mum said she had too much to do this morning and would go another time.

      ‘So what do you think?’ Sam asked.

      Oscar took his time, scratching himself. ‘I’ve never seen the point of cafes,’ he said.

      You might have expected Sam to gasp or fall over backwards in amazement but by now he was used to the fact that Oscar could talk. It was a secret between the two of them. Oscar said that things would only get complicated if Sam’s parents ever knew and it would cause an almighty fuss. Sam hadn’t even told his best friend Louie, although keeping the secret wasn’t always easy. Oscar said it was best to pretend that he was just an ordinary dog who happened to be very clever.

      ‘A cafe’s somewhere people go to eat and drink,’ explained Sam.

      ‘You can do that at home,’ Oscar pointed out.

      ‘Yes, I know, but people like eating out sometimes,’ said Sam. ‘It’s kind of a treat.’

      ‘Like biscuits you mean?’ asked Oscar.

      ‘Sort of. I expect you’ll see when we get there,’ said Sam.

      It was hard to explain cafes to a dog and besides Dad was coming out of the house, so they had to stop talking.

      They walked along the seafront for about a quarter of a mile, until Dad stopped and pointed. ‘There it is,’ he said, proudly.

      Sam stared. He’d expected something with large windows, comfy booths and warm lighting – a cafe in other words – but this place resembled a rundown Scout hut. The outside needed painting, the windows were broken and the roof sagged as if an elephant had recently sat on it.

      ‘You bought that ?’ said Sam.

      Dad nodded. ‘Of course, it needs a little work but you have to use a bit of imagination.’

      Sam thought you’d need a whole lot of imagination.

      Inside the hut there was a small puddle on the floor where the rain had got in. The floorboards were pebble-dashed with seagull droppings.